


Don't Even Have Aphrodite's Curse As An Excuse

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Obnoxiously Freudian [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, Come Eating, Crossdressing, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, F/M, Female Daddy, Hand Job, Incest, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Klaus suggests that Vanya try something else for her date. Diego isn't sure how he feels about it.





	Don't Even Have Aphrodite's Curse As An Excuse

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a little bit of Klaus/Diego, but it's mainly Vanya/Diego. 
> 
> I am _legitimately_ embarrassed by this fic. Please be impressed, since I like to think I have no shame.

Vanya and Klaus were arguing about... something, when Diego came to breakfast, two thirds asleep, sore from a particularly unpleasant punch to the side - he thought he might have a bruised rib. It was more technically his dinner, with the hours he kept, but that didn't matter, because it was food at the table with his family.

Although Vanya arguing about anything was always a surprise - she was still a bit of a doormat, even after the whole... White Violin nonsense. She still had issues with eye contact, and she generally either acquiesced or else just bit her lip and went on with her life. But she was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee cradled in her fingers, and she was _arguing_. 

"You always look like you're going to a funeral when you wear your orchestra suit," said Klaus, who was in what looked like a pair of pajamas that he’d stolen from some sibling or another.

"It's the dress code," said Vanya. "And I look good in it."

"You look scary in it," said Klaus.

"You only think she looks scary because the first time you saw her in that get up, she was trying to end the world," said Diego, slowly making his way towards the counter, to grab a piece of toast.

"I wasn't trying to end the world," Vanya said, in a long suffering tone of voice. 

"You sure made a decent attempt, though," said Klaus. 

"Stop needling her," said Diego, opening the fridge to take out a jar of cherry jam. 

"You literally told her that she shouldn't be at _our father's funeral_ , and now you're telling me not to needle her?" Klaus leaned back in his chair, enough that the front legs were leaving the floor. He'd been doing that since he was a kid, and somehow he hadn't managed to fall over and break his head.

God looked over children, drunks, and idiots, apparently. 

Diego gave Klaus a speculative look as he opened the jar of jam, and Klaus looked back at him, one eyebrow up. 

"What?" Klaus yawned, stretching. He was wearing normal clothes - more normal than usual, all things considered. A pair of pajama pants, a big floppy sweater. Klaus looked like he had slept in an actual _bed_ , miracle of miracles. 

"Nothing," Diego said. 

"Tell Mo -" Klaus began, and then he caught Diego's death glare and Vanya's curious look. "Tell me," Klaus amended.

Okay.

So maybe they'd done some... stuff. Some unbrotherly stuff. The kind of stuff that still got Diego hard when he thought about it sometimes. Or maybe most of the time. Or all of the time. And maybe it was the kind of sick that still made him blush when he caught a hint at Grace's perfume, and maybe he still sometimes called Klaus "Mommy" in more... intimate moments. Of which there were a fair amount these days. There had been some before he'd gone off on patrol - fucking into Klaus's fist, as Klaus told him to come for Mommy. 

And okay, maybe it was more than a little bit fucked up, but... well, it wasn't like they did anything else normally. Although the rest of the family didn't need to know about their proclivities. Especially not... Vanya. He'd never seen Vanya like that - he'd noticed Allison (he wasn't _blind_ ), some of his hostility towards Luther was due to the fact that he maybe wanted to kiss the big lug, and even Ben had set off a few... interested stirrings. But Vanya?

She was just the mousey little thing in the corner, playing violin and walking around with a face like a slapped ass. He'd barely noticed her, except when she was getting on his nerves. Then she'd written that book, and then she'd tried to end the world, and now... huh.

"Diego," Klaus said sharply, pulling Diego out of his own thoughts. "What are you thinking?" 

"Nothing in particular," Diego said.

"Leave him alone, Klaus," said Vanya, and she took another sip of her coffee. "He needs to meet his daily brooding quota."

Diego let out a snort of laughter, and bit into his toast. "I didn't know you were funny," he told Vanya, gesturing with his toast.

"I'm a lot of things," Vanya said, and there was a hint of a smile in her voice. Her hair was tied back, and he was struck with the intense urge to trace the delicate curve of her ear with the tip of his tongue. The intensity of the urge left him a little light headed, although some of that might have been the pain of his sore ribs. 

"You're gonna let me pick out an outfit for your date tonight," Klaus told her. 

"Do I even get a say in this?" Vanya looked faintly amused. 

"Nope," said Klaus. "You've obviously not gotten any in a long enough time that you need outside intervention."

"Klaus!" Vanya looked scandalized. 

Diego choked on his toast, because now the image of Vanya riding someone's face was filling his head, and he had a boner. He didn't know what to do with that. 

“Vanya,” Klaus said, his tone utterly serious, his hands on her hands, “Diego will back me up on this, but I can tell that it’s been a _very_ long time since you’ve -”

“Why are you dragging _me_ into this?” Diego’s voice squeaked a little bit at the end, and he’d have been embarrassed at that, if he wasn’t busy being embarrassed about literally everything else about this whole damn conversation. Oh god. 

“Isn’t it true that you can tell if a woman’s had an orgasm by the way she walks -”

“ _Why would I know that_?!” Diego shoved another piece of toast into his mouth, to keep himself from saying anything else embarrassing. 

“You studied all of that detective shit,” said Klaus. He was still holding Vanya’s hand, Diego noticed - her hands were small enough that they seemed to vanish in his own big ones. “You know that stuff, right?”

“I… that’s…” Diego floundered. He shoved the rest of his toast into his mouth, lacking anything else to say. 

“Exactly,” said Klaus. “You can borrow one of Dad’s suits -”

“So not only are you talking about my sex life -”

“Just your orgasm life, honey, not your sex life. Although if you’re having trouble getting there on your own -”

“Not _only_ are you talking about my sex life,” Vanya said, talking over Klaus, and he hadn’t realized that Vanya could even raise her voice, “but now you’re suggesting that I wear _our father’s suits_ while you try to set me off so that I can…”

“Get some,” Klaus supplied helpfully.

Vanya groaned, rubbing her face with both hands. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” she said.

“Because you love me,” Klaus said, and he stood up, kissing the top of her head. “Do it for me, sister dear. It’ll work. I promise.” He made his way out of the kitchen, towards… who knew what. 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” said Vanya, and she looked at Diego with a hopeful expression. “Can’t you talk him out of this?”

“Talking Klaus out of one of his dumb ideas takes at least five hours, and I need to sleep,” said Diego. “And he’s got a good eye for that kind of thing.”

“You actually noticed something nice about me,” Klaus called from the other room. 

Diego made a rude noise back. 

Vanya looked amused. 

“Do it,” Diego said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I either have sex while wearing my dad’s suit, or I don’t have sex because I’m wearing my dad’s suit. And… I’m talking about my sex life with _you_.” 

“You don’t have to say it so insultingly,” Diego said, as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water.

“I mean, not that I’m not grateful for your newfound interest in my life,” Vanya said, and she looked like she was choosing her words very carefully, “but you… you were very much not interested in my life. You kinda hated me for a long time.” She was avoiding eye contact, and when he glanced over at her, he saw her running her finger tip along the rim of her coffee mug. “So it’s a little, uh… unsettling to have you suddenly… not be like that.”

Diego walked over to her, slowly, carefully. He put his hands on her shoulders, and he looked down at her. “I was a total dick to you for years,” he told her, and he tried to sound as apologetic as he felt, although some of it was arousal and some of it was exhaustion, and some of it was just pain. “I’m gonna make it up for you any way I can. I’m really sorry about it.”

Vanya nodded. She was staring up at him with those big brown eyes of hers, and Diego was having a lot of feelings. He didn’t entirely understand all of them, but they sure were there. 

“”Okay?”

“Okay,” Vanya said. “I’m sorry for being so suspicious.” 

“It’s okay,” Diego said, and he let go of her, before he gave in to the urge to trace along the tip of her ear with the tip of one finger. She was so cute, and he wanted to kiss her. 

_Fuck_ , but he was getting fucked up, if he was lusting like this after _Vanya_. 

“So are we good?” She bit her lip.

“We’re fuckin’ excellent, baby,” said Diego, ans then he yawned, which made the sore spot in his ribs twang, and he winced. 

“Go sleep,” Vanya said. “You look like shit.” She reached up, patting his cheek, and he leaned into it, just for a second. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Diego said, and he patted her on the head, then made his way towards his old bedroom.

* * *

Diego didn’t go straight to sleep - he should have, but all he could think about was Vanya in that suit. The suit, only she’d been looking at him differently. Not that same deer in the headlights look, but something… bright. Something hard in the back of her eyes. He remembered her, as the White Violin. Remembered the strangeness of her, and the way she’d looked at him as she did… whatever it was that she had done. He came across his own belly, fucking into his fist, and he wasn’t sure what it was that he was imagining, but it left him weak and vaguely guilty. 

He’d gotten used to that feeling - ever since he’d started messing around with Klaus, there was an undercurrent of guilt running through him, like a live wire. He wasn’t going to complain about it - wasn’t going to complain about _any_ of it, since that was what he deserved in the first place - but… still. It was one thing to have these kinds of feelings about Klaus, who was… well, himself. It was a whole other kettle of fish to have them for _Vanya_. 

* * *

Diego didn’t go on patrol that night - he woke up still sore in the ribs, his head foggy. It was some late hour - he didn’t know _what_ hour, because he hadn’t looked at the clock when he’d pulled his pajama pants on and made his way towards the kitchen. 

He’d been dreaming about… something. What had he been dreaming about? He didn’t remember much of it - he remembered his father’s immense, oak desk in the dimness of his father’s study. He remembered the scent of it; dust, old books, dusty old books. He’d only ever been in there to get a dressing down - it wasn’t exactly a place of _nice_ memories. Staying in this place was worming its way into his dreams. He needed to get some fresh air. Maybe he’d go on patrol.

… And then he began to go down the stairs, and his sore ribs made their displeasure known. 

Welp. 

So none of that. 

The sun had gone down, and the house was quiet, each lit lamp like a little oasis in the deep ocean of darkness. He saw the lights of the kitchen on, and he made his way towards it, head still fuzzy. His bare feet were quiet on the floor - first rugs, then hardwood, then tile. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get his brain into something like working order, and then he froze.

There was a skinny, pinstripe-clad body sitting at the table. It took a few seconds for him to realize that it was _Vanya_ , not Dad, and he put his hand over his chest, taking a deep breath. 

She looked over her shoulder at him, and she looked… well, she didn’t look too pleased. 

“So I take it you didn’t get any,” said Diego, making his way towards the table and leaning against it. 

“You couldn’t have put that any better?” Vanya pulled a face, and took another sip from her glass. He could see the bottle of whiskey next to her, although it didn’t look like she’d drunk much of it. 

“Vanya, I woke up, like, ten minutes ago,” Diego said. His eyes darted to her loosened tie, to the top button unbuttoned on her shirt, to the unbuttoned vest. “Give me a minute.”

“My date didn’t go well,” said Vanya, after a few seconds of silence. 

“So Klaus was wrong?” Diego’s eyes took in the way the suit hung off of Vanya - it suited her, even if it was a little long. She was… pretty wasn’t the right word, but it was some relative of it. Handsome? Dapper?

“She said I looked dumb,” Vanya said, and she made a face.

“She literally said you looked dumb?” Diego wrinkled his nose. “What a bitch.”

“Well, she didn’t say that, specifically,” said Vanya, and now she looked faintly uncomfortable. She took another sip of her whiskey, and she only grimaced a little as it went down. 

“What’d she say, exactly?” Diego took the glass from her fingers, took a sip himself. The whiskey went down hot and sweet, filling his chest with light. He licked his lips, and Vanya raised an eyebrow.

“She said I couldn’t pull off the Daddy look,” said Vanya. “Can you believe that?” She plucked the glass from his fingers, which had gone slack.

“Did she?” Diego’s voice was rough. 

His sister was wearing his father’s suit, and someone had called her “Daddy.” Well, didn’t call her “Daddy,” but referenced Daddy...ness. In regards to her. 

Um. 

“I mean, she had a point,” Vanya said, and now she sounded glum. She slumped forward, her chin in her hands. “I wouldn’t make a good Daddy.”

“Why not?” Diego’s cock was getting hard - _fuck_ , he wasn’t wearing his usual tactical gear, wasn’t even wearing any underwear. Just pajama pants. The only thing separating his hardening dick from Vanya’s gaze. Oh god, what if Vanya looked at his cock?

… What the fuck was up with him? He wasn’t usually this easy to rile up. 

Fucking _Klaus_. His brother was infecting him like a virus. 

“Well,” Vanya said, “for one thing, I’m not a guy.”

“According to what Klaus tells me,” Diego said slowly, “Daddy is a whole state of mind.”

Vanya snorted. “You need to put in more flamboyant hand gestures in,” she said.

“No,” said Diego. “Give me a break. I’ve got an injury.” 

“That’s your own damn fault,” said Vanya, and she poked him gently in the chest. 

“See, that? That’s Daddy,” said Diego. “I could see Dad doing that.”

“He wouldn’t have put it like that,” said Vanya. “It would have sounded more snooty.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not aiming for Dad,” said Diego. This was a surreal conversation to be having, but… well, his life had been weird for a while. Especially since all the White Violin business. 

“I thought you said I could be a Dad,” said Vanya, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“No,” said Diego, and he kept leaning against the table, shoving his hands in his pockets in hopes of disguising the bulge of his erection, which was more than half-chubbed at this point. “Daddy. There's a difference between Dad and Daddy. Anyway, why would you _want_ to be Dad?”

“What’s the difference between Dad and Daddy?” Vanya leaned back in her seat, one elbow on the table, sitting with her legs open comfortably, holding the glass of whiskey. Her shirt was very white, and the pants clung to her legs - had Klaus tailored them? Did Klaus even know how to do that? Or did Vanya have a similar hip size to their father?

That was a weird thing to think about, and not a road that he wanted to go down. 

“One is sexy,” said Diego. “One is… less so.” His eyes were on her mouth, as she took a sip of her whiskey. Her tongue was very pink as it swiped across her upper lip. Her tie hung loose, the knot around the unbuttoned second button of her shirt. Her vest, hanging open under it, was the same dark, pinstripe fabric as her pants. He could see the undershirt she was wearing - white cotton, under the white linen of her shirt. Was it their father’s shirt, too? Her chest was narrower than his - the fabric hung looser.

“Which one am I?” Vanya’s voice was very quiet. 

“Well,” said Diego, “you’re not a sadistic asshole like our father.” He took his hand out of his pocket, put it flat on the table. The wood was very cold against his palm.

“I do my best not to be,” Vanya agreed, putting her hand on top of his. “Why do you think she said I’m not Daddy enough for the suit?”

“Because she has no imagination,” said Diego. Vanya’s fingertip was tracing along the lines of his knuckles, feeling the thin hair over the callouses from all the punching and boxing he did. 

“I think, if someone was looking at both of us right now, they’d think that you were the Daddy,” said Vanya, then; “I talked to Klaus about… some stuff.”

“Stuff, huh,” Diego said, flushing all the way to his hairline. “Anyway, they’d be wrong.”

“About stuff?” Vanya interlaced their fingers; hers were so small, calloused from her violin playing. Her thumb passed over the back of his hand, and her eyes were very dark. 

“About you being a Daddy,” said Diego. 

“Like Klaus is a Mommy?” Her voice was almost _sly_ , and he flushed harder. He fought back the urge to pull away from her, fought back the urge to deny everything or say that he didn’t know what she was talking about. 

But fuck it.

“I guess a title is a title, at the end of the day,” said Diego.

“Is it a title? Or a way of life?” Vanya’s hands were shaking, just a little bit, but she was still holding Diego’s hand. 

“Why not both?” Diego let her turn his hand over, let her trace along his life line, heart line, all the ticklish bits of his palms. He shivered, his cock twitching, his skin breaking out in wave after wave of goosebumps. 

“Would _you_ call me Daddy?” Vanya had apparently lost her taste for subtlety.

“If you asked me to,” said Diego. “Do you want that?”

“I want a lot of things,” Vanya said. 

“Well, I’d be happy to provide the ones that I can,” said Diego, not sure what he was agreeing to, or why he was agreeing to it in the first place.

“Why don’t you…” Vanya licked her lips. Her tongue was very pink. “Why don’t you give Daddy a kiss, Diego?”

There was a moment - an awkward, weird moment, where Diego probably should have walked off. Then he leaned forward, and Vanya’s hand was on his cheek. He pressed his mouth against hers, and he found her sweet, smokey with the whiskey. She sighed into his mouth, and her lips opened, her tongue tentative against his lips. He opened his mouth a bit more, and he pulled her closer to him, his hand on the back of her head. He pressed his palm against the curve of her skull, and he let his own mouth open. Her tongue was delicate against his, and when they pulled back, she was looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Oh,” Vanya said. “Um.”

“Am i that bad a kisser?” Diego tried to keep his tone light. 

“I haven’t, uh… I haven’t kissed anyone in a while,” she said, and she was flushed, her eyes dark, her lips swollen. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Diego, then, on a hunch. “Daddy.”

Vanya shivered. “You’re… a good boy,” she said, and she still sounded self conscious, but she looked like she was gaining more confidence. “You want to be a good boy, Diego?”

“I want to be a good boy,” Diego echoed, and then her hand was on his face. He nuzzled into her palm, and she slid her hand up to the top of his head. 

“Be a good boy for your Daddy,” Vanya said, and her voice was only a little embarrassed. 

“What do you want me to do?” Diego leaned down, and he put his hands on her hips. He lifted her (his bruised ribs only screamed at him a little bit) and set her down on the table. 

Vanya made a startled noise, although now she was sitting on the table, her legs dangling down. She was wearing Doc Martens, a deep, dark blue pair. _She should put them on my face_ ran through his head, and that made his cock twitch like a goddamn metronome. “I… don’t know,” Vanya said. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she he ran his fingers through it, it was silky, soft, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I want to make you happy, Daddy,” Diego said, and maybe he blushed a little bit as he said it, but he wasn’t blushing half as hard as Vanya was. “What do I need to do?” He pressed his forehead to hers, and her nose fit perfectly next to his. Her fingers stroked through his hair, along the ridge of his scar. 

“Diego,” Vanya said, a sound suspiciously like a sob. “Diego, I want…”

“What can I do for you, Daddy? How can I make you happy?” So he was turning the charm on. He was turning the charm on, for his own fucking sister, and something about that felt… wrong, but something deeper was just _satisfied_. He wanted… he wanted so many things, and he didn’t know what those things were, but he wanted them all, at once, right now.

Vanya’s hand curved around his jaw, her thumb pressed against his lower lip. He opened his mouth, let her thumb inside, and sucked. He kept eye contact with her, the flat of his tongue stroking along the underside of her thumb, and she shuddered, licking her lips. “Oh,” she said thickly.

He took her thumb deeper into his mouth, and he let her press down on his tongue; let her put her index finger in his mouth as well, her other hand coming up to feel along his eyebrow, the line of his nose. “I want to make you feel good, Daddy,” Diego said, and it felt like a line out of a porno, but she still shivered.

“I want you to take my pants off,” Vanya said, and she looked as if she might pass out from embarrassment. “Please,” she added.

“Of course,” said Diego, and he took a deep breath, his hands running along her sides. She was very warm, and he could smell a hint of something spicy - aftershave? Was that their dad’s aftershave? Or had Vanya put some on herself? He nuzzled along her neck, and he smelled her shampoo, her warm skin. There were traces of Dad on her as well - was it Dad? Was it just the scent of the suit?

For all that Grace was a machine and Sir Reginald had been a living man, it had always felt reversed. Grace had been the one whose scent he had memorized, whose breathing he had fallen asleep to, whose hands had been cool on his face when he was feverish. Reginald might as well have been an especially verbal statue, as far as personal interaction went. So what part of what he was smelling was Vanya, and what was the little bits of Reginald that were left over?

Vanya’s hands rested on the back of his neck, curling into the hair that was beginning to grow there. She tugged on it, and when he looked down into her face, she was looking down at his hands on the buttons of the pinstripe trousers. They were fancy trousers, with multiple buttons, and Diego’s fingers shook a little bit when he unfastened them, sliding his thumbs under the waistband and tugging on them. Then he paused.

“I can’t lift you up again,” he said, and he was _genuinely_ sorry for that - the same white hot shame he remembers from being a little kid in a stupid uniform, failing at a mission, failing at a lesson, failing at....

“Diego,” Vanya said sharply, and her hands were on his face. Her hands were on his face, and her trousers were down around her thighs, along with her boxers. She’d wriggled them down while he’d been spacing out in his own weird little shame spiral, and now she was looking up at him. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I… don’t know,” Diego said, which was honest, if unexpected.

“What don’t you know?” Her thumb on his cheekbone, rasping along his stubble. 

“I don’t want to fail you,” Diego said, and no, wait, that was _way_ too intense. Too intense for Vanya, too intense for a moment like this, too intense in general. He needed to calm down, stay cool. He needed to - 

“Diego,” Vanya said, and now her hands were on his ears, pressing their foreheads together. It made his ribs ache, just a bit. “Diego, I want… I want you to be a good boy for me. For your Daddy. I want you to…” She faltered, and she cleared her throat, clearly embarrassed. “I want you to get on your knees for your Daddy, Diego. Can you do that?”

Diego nodded, and he got down onto his knees, carefully, his thumbs hooked under the waistband of Vanya's pants, and he pulled them down, pulled her boxers down just as carefully. He paused, then looked down at her boots, which blocked them, and Vanya giggled, then covered her mouth with one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Vanya said. “I’m not really good at this. I should have, uh…”

“You’re doin’ pretty good,” Diego said, and he got down on his knees, carefully, his sore ribs protesting. He unlaced her boots, one after the other, and then he carefully removed them. “I like it.” Her socks didn’t match - one was blue, one of them was green with red checks. They looked like they’d been knitted by Grace. 

“Thank you,” said Vanya, and her fingers threaded through the hair on the top of his head, as he pulled her pants down and off. He took a perverse sort of pleasure out of leaving his father’s pants - his father’s pants, wet with his sister’s arousal - crumpled on the floor. He shuddered, and he licked his lips, looking up at her, nuzzling into her inner thigh. When was the last time he’d been this close to a woman? 

“Daddy,” Diego said, because the perversity of it was making his whole body hum. “Daddy, do you want me to… to make you come?” How had he gotten to this point? To offering his _sister_ head, his whole body desperate to sink into her, to make her come, to be her good boy. He remembered Sir Reginald’s stern face. “Daddy,” he said again, because he wanted to taste that word on his tongue, tried to make it fit the slight figure in front of him instead of the stern shape in his memories.

Had Sir Reginald ever been “Daddy”? Or always Dad?

Vanya’s hand was on the back of his head, pushing his mouth towards her cunt, and it was slick, hot, her pubic hair pasted down by the arousal smeared on her inner thighs. She was as hot for this as he was, she wanted him, she wanted to be his Daddy, she wanted… he didn’t know everything she wanted, but at this moment in time, he knew that he could give her some of it. She shuddered at the first pass of his tongue, a gentle poke at the seam of her labia, and then his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the table. He was lapping at her pussy now, finding the nub of her clit against his upper lip. He turned his face forward, until he could wrap both lips around her clit, and he sucked on it. She shuddered, her knees over his shoulders, and okay, this would be better in a bed. 

Much better.

Easier on his ribs, on his knees.

But this was where he’d eaten his breakfast as a kid, where they both had - where their father had overseen them. And now he was eating his sister out, kneading at her hips, slurping down her arousal as it gushed from her cunt to smear across his lips, his chin. His stubble was scratching up her vulva and her inner thighs, but she was groaning and gasping against him, her cunt pulsing like a star. He spread his mouth wider, to take more of it into his mouth, and she gave a broken little sob, her back bowing. 

“Diego,” she whined, “Diego, _fuck_!” She was so wet, her arousal sticky on his face, and when he looked up, she saw her face squeezed tight, red and hot. Her breasts were still inside of her shirt, and some part of him wanted to open her shirt up, to get his hands on them. But then again, no; some part of him wished she had kept her pants on. Wished she was wearing the jacket. Wished that he was in his father’s office, smelling of dust and old books, wished that he could fuck her over good ol’ Dad’s desk, while she wore their father’s clothes.

God, they were fucked.

“Daddy,” Diego whispered against her pussy, and then he kissed along the inside of her thigh. “Daddy,” he said again. “Daddy, I want to make you come. Can I make you come, Daddy? Please?”

“Don’t stop, Diego, be a good boy,” panted Vanya, and her hips were rolling forward, pressing his nose against her mons. “Be a good boy for your Daddy, be a good boy, such a good boy, oh… _fuck_!” Her toes were curling against his shoulder blade, wrinkling his shirt.

Diego’s jaw worked, and he shouldered her legs open wider, and he plunged his tongue inside of her, then went back to her clit, humming as he flickered the tip of his tongue against it. She was making broken little hiccuping noises, and he glanced up at her, worried, but she was pressing her other hand onto her mouth, biting her fingers. Her hair was coming out of its ponytail, falling in strands around her face. He sucked on her clit again, gentle, pulsing sucks that made her go completely rigid, arousal dripping down his chin and soaking into his shirt. Or maybe that was his own drool - he wasn’t sure.

She whined, a long, deep sound, and her cunt was spasming against his mouth, and there was slick on his chin,soaking into his shirt collar, smeared along his cheeks as he made wet noises. He licked her through another orgasm, right on the heels of the first one, and then his fingers were inside of her, his fingers curling against her g-spot, lapping at her clit. She was chanting now, little bits and pieces of words - “please’ and “yes!” and “good boy”- and he was so hard that it hurt, throbbing through him like another heart, pulsing between his legs. He pulled back, looking up at her, and he shuddered, the pain in his ribs and his arousal both strong enough to leave him lightheaded. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, slow, easy circles, and she chased it with her hips, juddering them forward. 

“Diego,” Vanya said, and her voice was raw. “Diego, you’re a good boy, but I can’t… oh… _fuck_!” Her back arched, and he watched her face as she came, her cunt throbbing, pulsing around his fingers. When she opened her eyes again, she was grinning at him. “Wow, you’re a mess.”

“Sorry,” Diego said, and he _was_ sorry - was his Daddy… was _Vanya_ annoyed with him?

“It’s okay,” Vanya said, and she grabbed his wrist, pulling his fingers out of her, then kissing the backs of his knuckles, still wet with her own arousal. “Stand up for me, baby. C’mon…”

He stood up, his knees protesting at the treatment, and she kissed him again, and he tasted like her, and she tasted like herself as well, and he wondered faintly if he could drown in the two of them. He let her hand slide into his pants, although he was shaking. Her fingers were very small and very warm, her thumb along the head of his cock, collecting some of his pre-come. 

“My good boy,” Vanya said, and yeah, she was into this - she was panting, and her forehead was on his as she jerked him off in his pajama pants. “Do you want… tell Daddy what you want, Diego. Be a good boy for your Daddy.”

“I want to… I… let me… make you… please… I…” Diego let out a muted, gasping sort of sob, and he came across her hand, soaking into his pajama pants. He would have been embarrassed, if he had any brain cells to spare. As it was, he just leaned heavily into her, his knees aching, his bruised ribs throbbing.

“You did a good job,” Vanya said, in her soft, sweet voice. “You did a good job, Diego. You made your Daddy so proud. You made your Daddy come.” He glanced into her face, saw her blushing as she said it.

“Thanks,” Diego said quietly. 

“For what?” Vanya pulled her hand out of his pants - the waistband snapped against his belly, and he made a face. She was looking at her hand with a thoughtful expression. 

Diego, without thinking, leaned forward, and he licked some of his come off of her palm. 

Vanya made a startled noise, but she kept eye contact with him as he licked her fingers clean, sucking two of his fingers into his mouth. “Um,” she said. 

“You two are really hot, y’know that?” Klaus came in, all but swaggering. He had his dick out, and he was wiping his palm on the leg of his pajama pants. Possibly the same pajama pants that he’d been wearing this morning. Had he ever changed?

Diego’s muscles tensed up, and he almost pulled away. Then he forced himself to relax, and he looked over at Klaus. “Enjoy the show?”

“Did I ever,” said Klaus, and he draped himself over Diego’s shoulder, his hand on the back of Diego’s head, fingers buried in Diego’s hair. “You gonna be a good boy for Mommy, now?”

Vanya flushed, but she looked distinctly… interested. “We are so fucked,” she said conversationally. 

“We’re all thirty,” said Klaus. “Give us a few minutes to get it up again.”

Vanya groaned, and pressed her face into Diego’s chest. “You’re the worst,” she mumbled.

“So are you, Daddy,” Klaus said, putting on a simpering tone, “but somehow I think our sweet little boy is exactly _complaining_.”

It was Diego’s turn to blush, as two sets of eyes settled on him, and he looked down - into Vanya’s chest, covered by their father’s shirt. He held on to the hem, and he tried to imagine a life where he would have held on to the hem of his father’s shirt.

He liked this better.


End file.
